Beyond the Blue
by Razzaroo
Summary: Nations don't experience death in the way humans know it; they leave no body behind. Instead the fade away into nothing. Some are quick, some are over a longer period of time. But it's never possible to hide the truth from the family, no matter how hard they try.


**A/N. Another de-anon from the kink meme. I need to stop with these. Usual disclaimers apply, my lovelies. **

* * *

He can remember when he first saw the sea.

It had been when he first became aware of himself. The sea was his first memory. He'd thought that it was the sky which had fallen to Earth and shattered into many pieces and the foam that crashed onto the shore was really clouds, dragged down by the falling sky. The sound of the waves had been soft laughter; perhaps the earth was laughing at the sky for falling?

Perhaps the sky had been laughing because it was happy to finally be with the earth?

Everything had been golden and amazing and _alive._

He can remember when he was golden and alive as well.

He holds his hand up to the sky and finds that he's not even surprised that it is even lighter than usual. The sun is managing to shine through him very, very faintly.

His hand falls down to his side again and he looks over the sea.

Over his beautiful, laughing sky.

* * *

He wakes up some mornings unable to breathe. He's awake before Sweden on these days and he lies in bed, clutching at his chest and waiting for his lungs to start again.

Sweden doesn't know something's wrong. He's never woken up in time.

This morning is a good one.

Sweden is awake before him and he's woken up by Sweden toying with his fingers. For a moment, he can feel something akin to panic rising in his chest; does Sweden know? Has he seen it? Nothing indicates that he has.

"Yer so tired lately," Sweden says, his voice hoarse, "I didn't mean to wake yer up."

"It's fine," he replies, sitting up and rubbing his eyes, "I'm fine."

Sweden sits up with him and pulls him close; he knows Sweden likes it when he's just woken up. He's easier to hold when he's just woken up.

He wouldn't have minded anyway. He also knows that, soon, Sweden won't hold him again.

* * *

It's Norway who first realises something is really wrong.

He's coughing in the bathroom, splattering the sink with scarlet, when he feels a hand rubbing between his shoulder blades and he knows it's Norway. His coughing changes to sobs and he hunches over the sink, his cheeks burning in shame.

Now someone else knows. Nobody else is supposed to know until he's ready to tell them.

When he finishes, Norway sits him on the edge of the bath and gently wipes the blood away from his mouth. Neither of them speaks but Norway's face is full of more emotion than he can ever remember.

It must be hard, knowing your brother is dying. He wonders if it's harder than the knowledge that you're the one dying.

* * *

He can hear Finland crying through the door. He's sure it's most likely about his death.

He wishes there's something he could do to prevent it.

More light now filters through him and, when he looks in the mirror, he can see the objects behind him. His clothes are the only things about him that aren't transparent.

Sweden holds him even closer at night now. It's almost like Sweden's afraid that he'll be gone in the morning and needs to hold him as much as possible.

He wonders if it's because Sweden doesn't want to let him go or because there's the threat of him fading on his own. If there's one thing more frightening than fading away, it's fading away alone.

He swallows and rubs at his eyes before pushing the door open. Finland turns around, not bothering to try and hide eyes that are red from crying. He's grateful for that; he doesn't want the others creeping around him like he's something breakable.

"It'll be fine," he says, pulling Finland into a hug, "Everything will be fine."

Finland clings to the back of his shirt and tries to stop the crying, "But you won't be."

He doesn't reply. He just runs his hand down Finland's back and tries his best to comfort the other man.

He won't be all right but he wants nothing more than for the others to be.

* * *

Sweden stays up with him all night, trying to comfort him. His nose won't stop bleeding. No matter how many tissues Sweden presses against his nose, the blood isn't stopping.

Eventually, the bed be is stripped of its sheets and blankets to stop them from getting too bloody. He's propped against the headboard with his head tipped forward, an icepack on the back of his neck.

"Yer an idiot," Sweden says, sitting alongside him, "Yer know that?"

"I'm not," he replies, his voice muffled by the tissues pressed over his mouth and nose, "We're just not on the same wavelength."

Sweden makes a sound in the back of his throat but doesn't bother arguing. He moves the tissue away from his face so the dried blood can be cleaned away.

"I'm sorry," he says as Sweden cleans the blood away, "I never wanted this to happen."

"It's fine," Sweden's being so gentle with him, as if he could shatter at any moment, "I know yer'd never choose this."

* * *

Iceland's become more distant from him. He can almost understand why; Iceland probably thinks distance would make it easier on both of them.

He's not going to tell Iceland that it just hurts him more.

Forcing them into a room together doesn't help, contrary to what Norway seems to believe. Iceland refuses to even look at him, preferring to gaze around the room instead.

He has to swallow down the lump in his throat before he can say anything.

"Ya doin' all right?" he asks, managing a smile, "Ya asthma not troublin' ya?"

Iceland only grunts in reply. Norway glares at his brother; Iceland could have done better than that.

"It's all right, Norge," he says, still smiling, "He'll come round."

He stood up on shaking legs and ruffled Iceland's hair before leaving the room to drag himself back to bed.

He feels so tired these days.

* * *

He's sprawled on the bed he shares with Sweden, his cat stretched over his lap. He runs his fingers through the cat's fur and tries not to dwell on how much he can see through his hand.

He probably looks washed out, like a painting that has faded over time.

The cat gently butts against his jaw, purring loudly. He kisses its nose and pulls it close for a cuddle. The volume of its purring increases and he can't help but smile.

He's grateful that there's something in the house that isn't afraid he's going to vanish at any second.

* * *

He stands in the doorway of their bathroom en suite bathroom, a towel around his waist and rubbing at his hair with another. Sweden is sitting on their bed, watching him.

"That look always makes me feel like ya can see right through me," he says, trying to joke about his situation, "It's a little unsettlin'."

Sweden sighs and beckons to him, inviting him in to be held. He drops one towel to the floor and settles himself between Sweden's legs, resting his back on the other man's chest. Sweden feels so solid and warm and alive.

He's too scared to ask what he feels like to Sweden.

Sweden's hands are laced with his and rest on his stomach. He grips Sweden's fingers, though he knows that's a dead giveaway that he's not as relaxed as he tries to make himself seem.

Sweden kisses the back of his head and sighs. He lifts his hands up, along with Sweden's, and looks at them.

He looks like a photograph where the colours have faded almost beyond recognition.

* * *

"Berwald," he says, fidgeting with his cuffs. Sweden looks at him and he swallows, "There's somethin' I wanna do before I…go."

Sweden nods, "What is it?"

He's worried that Sweden will refuse. He's worried that he'll be seen as ridiculous for wanting something like this when he's so far gone. But the need for it fills up his entire being and he can't let it go, no matter how hard he tries not to think about it.

"I want…" he takes a deep breath and looks Sweden in the eye, "For us all to go to the beach. That's where I want to be."

The unsaid "when it happens" hangs between them, filling the air with the weight of what it means. Neither of them speaks for a long moment and he feels something swell in his chest, blocking his airways and making it hard to breathe. What if Sweden says no?

"All right," Sweden says eventually, "If that's what yer want. If that will make yer happy."

His face breaks into a grin and he throws himself at Sweden, clinging like Sweden's the only solid thing left in the world.

* * *

Despite how much he's faded, he can still feel the sun. It's just like it was, all those years ago, when he first woke up on a beach when he was a child; warm and rich and the most amazing thing he'd ever felt.

Iceland is sitting next to him, clinging to his hand. He thinks he can hear the younger nation crying but he can't be sure. His hearing is fading now too; only the loudest noises make it through his ears now.

Ladonia shouts as Sealand tips a bucket of salt water over his head but the sound is distant, like the micronation is far out at sea. Despite that, he's glad that Finland brought them down from Helsinki, where they'd been staying throughout his "problem."

Sweden hadn't wanted them to see it.

"Hey, Iceland," he says, squeezing Iceland's fingers, "Ari?"

Iceland shifts next to him, "Yeah?"

He turns his head and smiles at the other nation, "Do ya think the sky can laugh?"

* * *

The sun is setting by time he goes downhill faster than before. He's sitting tucked against Sweden's chest, wrapped up in his old coat. Despite the warmth of the other nation and the coat, he feels so cold.

Norway is absently piling sand on top of his feet but he barely notices. Iceland is still clinging to his hand, refusing to loosen his grip even a little. Finland sits next to Sweden, Ladonia passed out on his lap because his laptop is running low on battery. Sealand is stretched out on the sand, trying to dry off in the last dregs of sunlight.

He can hear their voices but they're quiet and distorted, like he's hearing them underwater. He leans back against Sweden and fixes his failing gaze on the sky. He thinks he can feel water dropping down onto his cheek.

It doesn't seem like his sky is laughing now. It seems like it's crying.

But, for some reason, he's happy. He's happy that he has his whole family with him, under his beautiful, crying sky.

* * *

It's been two months. Two months with a too quiet house. Two months of both Sealand and Ladonia asking where he's gone; they know what's happened to him and that he's not coming back. Two months of Iceland wearing that coat. Two months of Norway being even more withdrawn.

Two months of messages, sent out to sea at dawn.

Sweden thinks it probably isn't the best coping method. It makes him feel better and it's a habit now. Besides, he might be getting those messages.

"Yer were always an idiot," Sweden says, lowering the bottle into the sea, "But yer were our idiot."

Sweden watches the bottle be carried out to sea by the current. The sea didn't lead to anywhere; some said that faded nations went nowhere. It works.

Sweden sighed and looked up at the sky, "We miss yer, Danmark. Bet yer didn't think I'd ever say that."

The sun is rising over the sea, making the water glow. Sweden takes his glasses off and rubs at his eyes; they sting from tiredness.

"I miss yer, Danmark," Sweden says, going back to the beach and sitting back on the sand, "Family doesn't feel real without yer."

* * *

He must have seen it as a great big adventure, Iceland thinks. That must have been it. He wouldn't have looked at it any other way. His coat is still too big for Iceland and it probably always will be. Iceland pulls it closer and shivers, looking out over the choppy water of the sea.

It's all in the sea; Iceland's figured it out. They've always been all about the sea. The sea is the first thing they've ever known. Iceland will go to the sea and he'll find Denmark and make him real again. He's out there. He can be found.

Iceland knows he's there because he always said he'd go among the stars and it's easier to reach the stars glittering in the sea rather than in the sky.

Iceland will bring him back from the stars; he'll bring Denmark back and make the family whole again.


End file.
